Pretty Little Hate Machine
by forgetmenow
Summary: Temari and Kankurou and their feelings about Gaara. Sandcest. Sand Sibling fic. Gaara x Temari. MF
1. Pretty Little Hate Machine Ch1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

**

* * *

Pretty Little Hate Machine  
Edited & Revised: 11-20-05**

**By: Forgetmenow**

Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

* * *

Following the invasion of Konoha and Gaara's encounter with the blonde nin, Temari and Kankurou had rushed Gaara back to Suna. It had been one of the quickest trips and one of the longest for the siblings. Despite the burden of an unconscious Gaara, it was a swift trip home. The trio made it back to familiar soil in record haste. They were at a safe house that was a day away from Sunagakure on the outskirts of the forest, just before pebbles and rocks deteriorate into grains of sand. Suna's elders were wary of Gaara's transformations and his mental instability; if a mission did not go according to plan their protocol was to fall back to the safe house.

Never had Gaara sustained such an injurious defeat. Well, a defeat in general for him was already unusual. The Uchiha had delivered a good strike. Gaara bled. Temari was no medical nin, but she was skilled enough to stop the sluggish bleeding and patch up the wound. It went beyond basic training. Some would say it was talent, that she had a calling, a knack, but really, it was Gaara. For him, she went beyond her limits. To help him, she would give 110 percent and then some more. Whatever was required of her. However, despite her efforts there would be a scar. A mark to show he was human after all. But also, a sign that his sister too knew that he was human.

Uzumaki Naruto too had delivered a physical blow, intense enough to draw blood. It was more superficial than anything else, easily healed with just the faintest hint of a bruise. Despite the external repercussions, the two older siblings were more concerned about the psychological consequences. Gaara's psyche was already fragile enough. He rarely ever showed any emotion beyond anger, bloodlust, and well, just not giving a damn.

Gaara apologized. He was sorry. He's never shown remorse or regret in the past.

Temari unhooked the gourd from Gaara's back, as Kankurou eased his brother off his shoulder onto the bed. She set it down on the floor with a thud. How Gaara managed to carry the oversized burden was beyond her. She dragged it over to the corner, propping it in the nook. It wouldn't tip there. She made her way back to bed, her steps slow.

There, the unconscious sand nin lay, with one hand on his side, the other resting on his stomach, his head resting on a beaten pillow. Temari's stuffed weasel plushie sat to the left of his cheek next to the pillow. She had two. One sat on her desk back in her room, located in a towering structure in Suna. The other was here keeping Gaara company. This toy was more ragged than the one back at the city. What was once an ivory white pelt now was a dull off-white, almost grey. The fur was coarse but clean. The matted coat remained in little clumpy locks, the result of too many rough cleanings where each strand no longer held its individuality. One of its glass beaded eyes was missing, but not easily noticeable because of the black patched area around the eyes.

"Unh…."Temari winced as she flexed her neck and shoulders, an audible crack breaking the silence, a slight frown on her lips.

"That didn't sound good. You okay? You need me to look at it," Kankurou said glancing over.

"Iie…I'll live." She was not priority. Her safety and well-being came second…correction; third, she had two brothers after all. She could feel the dull pain in her lower back, but ignored it for the time being.

The flesh was tender and soft.

_No doubt, it's bruised. A rib is broken too, at least one… most likely two._

It was a dull pain that intensified with certain movements and turns of her body. She would bear it.

When she had fled alone with Gaara, that's when it happened. She held no grudge against him for what he did. His arm had been over her shoulder as she supported them both through their escape through the dense path of tree trunks and branches. He had ordered her to get away however; she cared more about him than to obey by his orders

Then Gaara had stuck her.

She smashed into the solid trunk of a tree 50 meters away. Distance had not lessened the force of the impact. She absently rubbed her hand against her abdomen, a nagging pain radiating there too.

The inhuman strength of the blow alone was intense, yet the compounded damage was hard to put off.

_I'll need to put the self healing jutsu to work tonight. I'm not waiting weeks for my body to heal on its own. _

Gaara wasn't himself then. He was too unbalanced because Shukaku had been on the threshold of taking over.

"I'm getting too old for this." Kankurou sighed, his body sagging slightly.

"Being a big brother is a lifetime commitment."

Kankurou thought over her words.

"Yeah, well, no one asked me if I wanted a little brother." He said with a frown, his brow furrowing.

After a few moments...

"Ditto."

They both shifted their attention back to the motionless form on the bed. Gaara's breathing was even and steady.

"Do you ever think 'what-if?'' Temari said solemnly.

"'What-if' what?"

Another pause, as Temari gathered her thoughts.

"Where do I start? …What if Gaara didn't have Shukaku inside him? What if we never had a little brother? Would father have put Shukaku in you or me? What if mom lived? You think Gaara would be any less …unstable, even with Shukaku inside him? You think our family would be any less screwed up than it already is? What if we were a normal family?"

Kankurou was silent.

"Hmph, 'normal.' Now that's an idea..." His voice was thoughtful.

"I do know something though." His head slightly bowed, bringing back memories that he rarely recalled.

He raised his head and looked directly at Temari's sea green eyes. "I wouldn't be the person I am today without him…" The expression in his eyes said more than the words he was saying. "…or you."

"Yeah, _normal_ would be nice…" He said an almost awed tone.

"…but I'm grateful to Gaara. Growing up with him has been like training 24-7. Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Because of him, I've reached a potential I never would have reached alone."

"What makes you think it was him that was the cause?" Temari questioned.

"Heh, do you have so little faith in your brothers?"

"No, I trust you both… with my life…" She paused and tried to find the words for what she felt.

He could see that she wanted to say more but nothing came. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"S'ok, I know what you're trying to say even if you don't."  
"Feelings are meant to be felt…here..." His free hand tapped the area in the middle of his chest. "not heard."

_When did Kankurou become so wise? _She looked at him wide-eyed. Sometimes his insight surprised her.

"Of course, if you can find the words for them, like me, all the more power to you." He gave her a wide grin, his eyes squinty with pride. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Heh, some big sister you are." He ruffled her hair, loosening some of the ties holding her hair up. Temari glared at him.

"And as some big sister advice, perhaps it's time to stop playing with the dolls."

Kankurou looked abhorred.

"They're not dolls!" He huffed

Temari gave him a sideways look showing she was less than convinced. He would have to try better than that if he wanted to change her mind.

"If anything, they're action figures!" He emphasized with a stomped of his foot.  
"_Action figures!_" He stomped again.

"Shh, you'll wake him!" She hissed in a hushed tone, pressing her palm over his open mouth, her eyes wild with panic.

He mumbled something unintelligible behind her hand.

Gaara did not stir.

"I can't hear what you're saying," removing her hand. With a perpendicular finger pressed against her lips she emphasized Kankurou to keep his voice level. He nodded.

"Anyway, Karasu and Kuro Ari are _puppets_! Respectable Suna weapons since the days of Shodai Kazekage…

"Whatever…" rolling her eyes but managing a giggle. "But you're never gonna catch a kunouchi if you wear more make-up than her."

"Hey, don't go getting on my case. Look at you. In a few years, you're gonna end up shriveled and alone, worse than Chiyo-baa." He said with a snicker.

He wished he could take back his words, but they were already spoken. Real thoughts and feelings made solid with a few raised decibels.

The room was filled a sobering and uncomfortable quietness.

He had hit a nerve-- a deep one. She didn't even retaliate by beating him on the head with her fan. No snide comeback, no act of violence. She just seemed to be staring into nothing, unfocused…or perhaps too focused.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it."

"S'alright," Temari shrugged. She remained silent. It was deafening as well as suffocating. It would've last all forever but he couldn't stand it any more. There were duties that had to be done.

"Baki isn't back. Neither is Kazekage. After all that's happened, they'll still want a mission report." Kankurou looked back down at Gaara.

"Are you sure you want him in here? He does have his own room." Kankurou turned back to Temari, meeting her gaze. The tension in the room was no longer quite as thick as seconds before.

"Iie, it's okay. I…can handle it. I can keep a better eye on him in case something happens."

"Then I'll leave him to you," giving her shoulder a final reassuring squeeze. The concern was apparent on his face, no matter how much he tried to conceal his emotions beneath the layers of purple paint. He cared for his younger brother. Gaara was the baby of the family, yet the one with the hardest life.

"Good journey," she said to him just before he left.

"Full moon's passed, but keep the window open, otherwise_ he_'ll feel too caged," before giving a two fingered salute and silently closing the door

Temari gave a curt acknowledging nod. A lock of hair fell into her face.

She muttered under her breath before giving a defeated sigh.

Unhooking the pins and ties in her hair, it fell in a golden cascade around her shoulders. The only way to fix it would be to redo it from the start. She laid the accessories on the dresser for the time being, running her hands through the sunny tresses as she walked back to the bedside.

When she was alone around Gaara, she was not afraid. She felt more awkward than anything else. His presence was unnerving, as if he were calculating some plot behind those icy eyes of his. She was the only one who could calm him from his volatile bursts of instability. Why did she have this power over him…or more importantly, why did he allow her this control over him? Perhaps her femininity reminded him of the framed picture of their mother, the matronly figure he so craved. Personally, she found him to be quite tolerable to be around, most of the time.

But, resting before her was not a conscious Gaara. She was alone with a sleeping Gaara. Now, she was afraid. The feeling made her heart skip a beat. She knew her terror was fabricated, the uncertain possibilities invented by fear. If a transformation were to occur, it would've happened already.

She bent across the bed, prone over Gaara's sleeping form, to reach the window latch. She was careful not to slip and possibly fall over him. She pressed against the glass pane, pushing it slightly ajar. The cool night air crept into the darkened room.

She would keep the room dim for Gaara's sake. Only the faint light from the moon illuminated the room. Any other light would be jarring if he awoke. Gaara's unconsciousness was reaching near 48 hours. Temari couldn't recall the last time Gaara had even an hour of good rest.

When they had arrived it was already dusk. Twilight lingered beyond the horizon. Now, the moon had risen high in the night sky to take its place among the stars. It grinned its sideways Cheshire cat smile at her.

The eerie beckoning of that celestial body would do no harm for the time being. Shukaku would not emerge this night or tomorrow, or within the next fortnight. There would be no transformation while Gaara slept. The creature was subdued enough to allow Gaara some peace. Though, that's not to say the Biju didn't seethe and writhe within its human vessel. Gaara's body was physically exhausted, his chakra depleted. Even with the Ichibi's chakra, it would not be enough if the flesh was unwilling. Yet, she was still uneasy; the result of years and years of being edgy.

A shooting pain shot through her torso. She hissed an intake of breath as she pushed herself back from the window. She had extended her body too much, the sinews and fibers yanked and pulled against her damaged bones. She gritted her teeth. She had thought she could ignore the pain for the most part, but now it came back to haunt her.

She sat knees folded beneath her. She made the hand signs for the medical ninjutsu and then a green glow emanated from her palms. She was one of the rare nin who knew medical ninjutsu, yet did not dedicate her skill to the profession. However, the sibling team never needed it, not with Gaara, so her talents often went to waste. The soft green glow was warming as she laid her hands over her stomach. The dull aches and pains in her body faded as the healing chakra flowed though her. The gentle heat was comforting. Her body felt whole again, as if she found something lost. Her body radiated warmth like a bright beacon in the shadows. She stole quick glances at the bed; his breathing was slow and rhythmic like the slow tick of a metronome. When she was done, a chilling air surrounded her. Goosebumps prickled her skin. The wholesome feelings she felt earlier quickly dissipated.

Temari scooted to kneel at the bedside. She laid her hands on the bed, folding them together, her chin rested on her hands. She could gaze at him forever, his sleeping face entrancing. How could he instill such numbing fear in her? Most of the time, she'd freeze in her spot, her blood would become like ice in her veins. Now, he didn't look so terrifying. He looked helpless. Her stuffed animal was a humanizing accessory. He was human, regardless of how much he or anyone else refused to accept it. His purpose was not to inflict pain. Shukaku's presence had overlapped Gaara's self worth to where others only viewed him as the menacing demon, including himself. No one saw the young man within the shadow of the Ichibi. He bled just like everyone else. He had feelings like everyone else. He could feel regret. He could feel joy and sorrow. He could feel the cold despair called loneliness. He knew the meaning of loneliness more than she could possibly comprehend.

She could recall his voice in her head.

_I'm just a demon. _

"Demon or not, we are bound to each other, by blood and by purpose."

She dragged herself up from the floor. She removed his shoes, foot by foot. She undid his vest, the leather mantle which helped support the weight of the gourd, unlatching buckle by buckle. She meticulously eased the body armor off, cautious not to make the movements too jarring.

The mattress dipped slightly as Temari sat then lay on the bed. His slumber went undisturbed. She curled against his side. Her gazed was transfixed on the beating pulse along his throat. His body was frigid. His skin was cool to the touch. She could feel the coldness of his body seep into her as the heat within her radiated to him. Her hand caressed his face, turning his ever so slightly so she could look at his sleeping face.

"Beautiful," pushing a stray lock of scarlet away from his forehead, her eyes softening. His face was flawless: smooth and unblemished.

"Do you still have a demon behind those shadowed eyelids of yours?" She traced her thumb lightly over the darkened skin. The black rings were contrasting around his eyes, obvious signs insomnia, the only defense against the torment he bottled up within himself. Her fingers glided over the red mark above his eye. Love. Why love? What made love so special that it was carved into his flesh? He was like machine of hate that destroyed everything it encountered. A machine that bled every creature it came across. Crushed... maimed...slaughtered...killed by something so pretty and so beautiful. No, that wasn't him. That wasn't the real him. He was beyond that, so much more.

She nuzzled his neck, inhaling the scent of him, a unique aroma that was masculine and earthy. Only his.

She recalled his voice again: _Temari, Kankurou. I'm sorry. _

"There's nothing for you to apologize about." She traced his soft lips from where the apology sprang. His breath was warm against her fingertips. She was older; she didn't need him to protect her. If anything, it was her duty to protect baby brother. He'd become a cold person. He had such inner turmoil. He hated the world for the way it mistreated and hurt him. She was determined to change it, as he himself had change two days prior.

"I will keep you safe." She was resolute. "I'll keep you warm …and loved," her hand resting over Gaara's heart, the soft drumming beneath her fingertips. His gentle breathing lulled her eyes closed...

She must've dozed off. She awoke with a feeling of inner peace and serenity. Her body was warm and content, as if this comforting feeling--this place in her being that this emotion rested, was her home. It was like a room in her spirit, filled with light and warmth. This place in her soul was where she was meant to be, the place she would always strive to return to, the place she would fight for, and give her life for. This place, this moment in time, this feeling, it was all that mattered. One arm, she had folded to cradle the side of her head while the other limb was wrapped around Gaara's body. His arms had moved, they were now folded over him, the fingertips grazing her skin.

She carefully disentangled her arm, sliding it out from under Gaara's limbs. It would be awkward if Gaara had awoken first. How could she explain this to him? The need she had to protect him, to melt the ice around his heart, to warm him to the world. She quietly slipped off the bed to the floor, the mattress slightly rising in the absence of weight.

She stood up to leave. She needed blankets and a sleeping mat stored in the hallway closet.

Temari stepped out of the room, closing the door with as little of a click and squeak as the aged wood and metal hinges would allow. Gaara's eyes opened. He turned his head sideways on the pillow, staring at the doorway. His eyes were clear and alert, no indication of drowsiness or fatigue evident in the pale turquoise irises.

Temari didn't notice.

(TO BE CONTINUED?…)

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I'm debating on whether to do a Ch2 or not ... I want to include some smexy sandcest but um...I got writer's block, lol

Currently, working on Ch3 of The Way We Were.

Thanks for your support!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

**

* * *

Pretty Little Hate Machine**

**Chapter 2**  
Revised: 2-13-06

**By: Forgetmenow**  
Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

* * *

As Temari closed the door, she leaned heavily against it. The wood was hard and solid behind her, supporting her weight. Her arms were limp at her sides. The palms were open, feeling the uneven surface of the un-sanded door; reaffirming it's solidity as if it would disappear and she would tumble backwards into the room and possibly awaken her slumbering brother. She gave a deep sigh. The brief nap she had only managed to convince her body that she was indeed exhausted after the journey, yet her head was pounding with. She wrapped one arm over her abdomen and massaged her temples with her other hand. She worked the skin between her fingers and thumb till the throbbing in her head ebbed. The conclusion of their actions finally sank in. Her body slumped more heavily against the oak portal.

Mission failed.

The taste of failure was bitter on her tongue. Gaara had achieved the perfect form in order to crush Konoha. Instead of gloating over the feat, the three had eventually fled. It wasn't successful, so what other result could it be? It made her stomach clench. She had this terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sick feeling in her gut, a dreadful feeling. A sense of lack of self worth weighed down her heart as well. She felt worthless. Useless.

She would've sworn that she knew what was best -- she knew what was right. She thought Gaara could handle anything. She was wrong. She had known all along, but she was just fooling herself. She had been selfish. Gaara was beaten. Defeated. He had been a limp weight over Kankurou's shoulders. Seeing him in such a weakened state - - like now, laying strides away on the other side of the wooden barrier --her duty to her village, her family, her baby brother had never been so clear.

She wished she could go back and make things different. Maybe there was something she could've done. Just a little added effort and the outcome would've been different.

Maybe they came out better in the end though. For a mission of that magnitude, they came back uncaptured and alive. That was something to rejoice about. Though she knew the three of them wouldn't be quite the same as they originally were going in on this assignment.

She pushed herself from the door and made her way down the hall. She had to shower before she went to bed. She was dirty. She had two days worth of filth on her. Dust and dirt clung to her body, especially adhering to the perspiration on her person which had eventually dripped or evaporated from her skin. Stepping into the bathroom, she swung the door close behind her. The door nearly closed before it popped open slightly ajar when the force of her push did not completely shut the door into place. Temari looked over her shoulder and shrugged at the gap in the doorway before turning back around.

_Arrg!...Too lazy to close…_

With all that's happened, for once she wanted to make a sloppy action, not have to worry about the consequences of her moves. She wanted to be carefree like the Leaf nin seemed to be. To do something careless, and not have it's consequences be a mortal decision.

The bathroom was typical: stark and sterile-looking. Plain. It was white and clean, decorated in ivory tiles: unusual, considering the general drab exterior and interior of the rooms and building itself. However, it was large and spacious. In a corner, was the bathtub, which could double as a shower. It had two sliding glass doors, which appealed to Temari more than shower curtains. The tub was a pleasing size, large enough to accommodate more than one person and still be perfect for longs soaks. The other side had the sink, toilet, and vanity. Towels hung on a towel rack attached to the wall.

Temari got down on her knees, rummaging through the drawers beneath the sink. Under the sink cupboard was where she found it. Hidden behind a small wall of stacked rolled toilet paper was Temari's bath basket. It was filled with shampoo, aromatic salt and oils of varying shapes but mostly the same general size, and her loofah! In triumph, Temari smiled to herself.

_No girl is complete without her loofah!_

Setting the basket down within easy reach, she began to take off her clothes. She disrobed till all her clothes lay in a pool around her feet. Still having a sense of shyness and embarrassment of her nude, feminine form, she crossed one arm over her breasts. She put her other palm on the glass and slid the door open.

Temari turned on the shower, testing the water with her other hand, then stepped in and slid it closed. With her back to the sprouting water, she threw her head back, letting the falling cascade soak her hair. Her hair, unbound and loose from when she had removed the hair ties in the bedroom, hung midway down her back, like a dark gold river. She ran her hands through her dripping hair, slicking it back. The water beat against her back. She turned around letting the water hit the top of her face. The hot water rained down on her. The water beaded and trailed down her face.

Steam rose around her and began to fill the room. The heat seeped into her pores, into her muscles, into her tired bones. She gave an appreciative groan as she pressed her head against the cool tile. She couldn't remember the last time a shower felt so good. The water beat against her shoulders and the back of her neck. The exhaustion was washed clean away.

She used the loofah to scrub her body clean of grime and muck. The water rinsed them away and dragging them down a swirley drain through the old pipes. Temari scrubbed, shampooed, and conditioned till she knew the dried results would be soft, honey-blonde hair and smooth tan skin. In here, she didn't have to think. She could just do. It was cleansing and cathartic.

At one point she, she noticed a chill despite the warm steam and hot water. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck, though damp, stood upright. With bubbles and soap in her eyes, she couldn't see clearly. Protectively crossing both arms over her chest, she put her face inline with the spouting downfall then pulled out. The water streamed down her face. It clung in thick drops on her lashes. For a moment her vision was blurry and even worse than when she had soap in her face. Temari whipped her head to the look through the glass. The bathroom door hung wide open. She pressed her arms more tightly to her chest. She knew that she had left the door ajar, but not that much!

_Could the steam have pushed the door open? Does steam do that? _She shook her head, then thought again_. Possibly..?_

With a shaky voice, one that she couldn't even recognized as her own, "Is someone there?"

The only response that replied back was empty silence.

_Did Gaara's wake up and come looking for Kankurou or me? _Her voice sounded more normal, but perhaps a little high-pitched. "Gaara…? Is that you?"

Still no answer.

Temari was relieved and at the same time disappointed.

(TO BE CONTINUED…)

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Originally, this chapter was going to be much-much longer, but I split it up and uploaded what I was more-or-less satisfied with.

Sorry for the lateness, I've been on hiatus cuz of the the flu and now I am sick again. Everyone I know has been, is, or in contact with someone who is sick. I don't consider myself a sickly person. When I do get sick, I just want to veg out and do nothing. I may edit this ch depending on how the next chapter evolves.

Thanks for your support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

**

* * *

Pretty Little Hate Machine**

**Chapter 3**  
Draft 2-13-06

**By: Forgetmenow**  
Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

* * *

Gaara had followed her.

He was drawn by the crack of light and steam and the sound of falling water from the end of the hall. It called him forth from the dark. Each slow step he took seemed to gain momentum as he approached.

He knew what was on the other side, but curiosity egged him on. He had to confirm what his sense of hearing was telling him and what his imagination envisioned. He slowly pushed the door open. Steam wafted out, escaping the crowded confines of that mist filled cell. Initially, he couldn't see a thing, just bright light and steamy vapor. When it had dissipated somewhat, he saw her. Rivulets of bubbly water and suds trailed down her naked skin as the shower head continued to rain down upon her.

_Temari…_

Gaara stood there too long. It was only a few short moments, just seconds compounded upon one another, but it was still too long. She was the same person he'd known his whole life. She was boring. She was ordinary. Nothing should've intrigued him enough to stay as long as he had, but…

She was different.

It was something intangible he could not grasp. Something beneath the surface that was not apparent before. He didn't understand why, but he saw her differently.

He tried to convince himself: the predator, the animal, the demon inside him was making him watch. It was holding his limbs frozen in place; mesmerized by the graceful slope of her neck, the delicate shape of her bones, and the soft curves of her hips. He could not move his legs because of it. But that ominous voice inside his skull was silent. His head was clear and the only voice that he heard in his head had been his own.

Before Temari could catch him, he was gone.

_-----_

Temari returned to the room with pillow and blanket in tow. Her hair was damp yet almost dry. It hung in limp waves around her face. Dressed in oversized pajamas, the partially buttoned top hung loosely around her shoulders while the pants, which were a bit too long, pooled somewhat at her toes and dragged against the floor. The first two buttons of the top were undone, a white camisole peeked out from beneath. The outfit was out of character from what others would think she would wear or at least she thought so. No demure nightie or silken negligee. Actually, she wasn't quite sure what others would think she wore to bed. PJs were just a bit too childish…but they were comfy. Certain parts didn't ride up where they shouldn't. They kept her warm on nights when she would restlessly toss and turn leaving her blankets askew around her if she hadn't already let them slip off.

She had originally dreaded coming back to this room. Her room. Her sanctum. Her sanctuary. She couldn't believe it. This was her private domain and she was scared to enter. But it was because of her guest that she was a bit reluctant. This wasn't a situation like the three bears finding a slumbering Goldilocks in their home. She had insisted Gaara remain in her room. When she had discovered the bathroom door open while she was showering, a myriad of emotions and thoughts had passed through her. First, fear at being spied upon during a point when she was most vulnerable, anger at the audacity someone would even dare, and relief that Gaara was possibly better.

_So it hadn't been him after all._

Gaara still laid on the bed. She had some anxiety that she would have to confront Gaara. Her nerves were more at ease now. His eyes closed and his breathing was soft and steady like a pendulum. From what Temari could surmise, he had not moved since she slipped out of the room. If he had shifted in bed, it must've not been very much. She was grateful that there would be no awkward conversation about personal privacy or the reasons why a person should not to sneak up on others.

The stuffed weasel near his head added a humanizing and vulnerable aspect to his unconscious state. Her own eyes softened at the sight. She wondered if he dreamed. _What was he dreaming about? Did he have nightmares? Does he dream of me or Kankurou? Does he dream of mother or father? Did he dream about the future?_ It was still hard to stomach. Where would they go from here? She couldn't think beyond the present, she just wanted to sleep. To finally let her body rest and recoup even for just a few hours would be a godsend.

She had mixed feelings about sleeping in the same bed with Gaara. The floor didn't look very comfortable. It looked cold and damn hard. However, she was a well-trained ninja; she's had rougher sleeping accommodations. Temari has had rocks as her pillow and the night sky as her blanket. Yet, those occasions didn't have very restful results. She looked at the bed and at the floor. Staring long and hard she could have bore holes into the ground.

Temari didn't want to sleep on the floor.

Her gaze returned to the bed. Being curled up against Gaara's body hadn't been terrible. It was quite pleasant. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside when she thought about it. If she wasn't so uneasy about his reaction to finding her sleeping next to him, she probably wouldn't even have left. But, he was just so unpredictable and it was _her_ bed. She could toss him out if she wanted, but that wouldn't be very sisterly…or perhaps it was. She knew she'd definitely toss Kankurou out on his fanny if he was in her bed.

_Screw it. _

She was willing to take a chance.

_What's the worse that could happen?_

Spreading her blanket over the expanse of the bed, she gently eased onto the mattress beside Gaara. She curled herself into a loose fetal position with her back towards him, trying to take up as little of the bed as possible, but it was quite uncomfortable. She mentally scolded herself that sleeping in such a rigid position was worse than the discomfort of the floor. Why bother torturing herself?

She turned over onto her back, and her hand brushed the side of Gaara's bare arm. Her eyes darted to Gaara's face, to see if the contact had registered, but it hadn't. It certainly did to her. It wasn't like a jolt of electricity but a cool, sliding friction of skin on skin which developed into a slow heat. Lightning quick, that warmth faded as surface against surface contact broke.

Still laying back she slid her arm over his till her open palm rested on his. His hand was so much smoother than hers. Her hands were still feminine and refined, but somewhat callused from training and mastering her fan. She didn't know why, but she laced her fingers between his. She just had to quell the urge feel the sensation, the cool friction building into warmth as their bodies grazed. Her slim digits fitted into the spaces between his until their palms pressed more heatedly against each other. She's didn't squeeze or contract her grip.

Laying side-by-side, Temari stared at the ceiling holding Gaara's hand until her eyes drooped and closed. Her last conscious thought was that Gaara's hand felt warmer than hers.

To Be Continued…

* * *

Sorry for the delay. --cough-- Yes, I'm still sick. I'm on antibiotics and narcotics now.U.U Sigh.

I got into Harvest Moon FOMT For Girl GBA too! So, I've been farming and boy chasing lately. LOL :-D

Hope I didn't go too overboard on the descriptiveness. I tried not to make that mistake on this chapter. O.O; Next chapter will have a bit more um…Can you say sandcest… cough

As always, thanks you for your support and reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

**

* * *

Pretty Little Hate Machine**

**Chapter 4**  
Draft 10-7-06

Warning: If sandcest offends you, do not continue. Read at your own risk.

Woo! Look, the other part of the teaser.

**By: Forgetmenow**  
Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

* * *

Temari opened her eyes to find Gaara staring down at her. Those cool, pale green orbs, that she had seen change to stormy turquoise during fits of rage so many times before, were now focused ever so intently on her. The expression on his face was so familiar yet foreign. His mouth was neither smiling nor frowning. The look in his eyes was unreadable. People say that the eyes are the window to a person's soul. She was almost expecting to see the spirit of the slumbering Ichibi if she gazed long enough, but she could only see herself being reflected back from his glassy depths.

Gaara had slid over to her side of the covers and was practically on top of her. He was supporting his own weight as his body was on all-fours above her. If he had truly rested on her, she would've awoken to the added weight. His legs were bent at the knees, resting on each side of her hips, while his arms placed on each side of her head, propped up his upper body. She wasn't quite sure how she would've reacted, if she had woken to find his legs entwined between hers, their intimate areas pressing against one another...especially now, since his face was so close to hers. They were practically sharing the same air. He could kiss her if he wanted to. He could bend down and brush his lips against hers. The thought of even the chastest of grazing lips had Temari anticipating what was almost the inevitable. She wondered what his lips felt like. Did the desert make his lips rough and dry or were they secretly smooth and soft, protected beneath the layer of sand armor? The urge and expectancy to experience the sensation of touching his lips grew until she suddenly puckered and licked her lips which suddenly felt as dry as the landscape she envisioned.

Gaara's watchful gaze followed the movement of her tongue as she moistened her lips. Coming back to herself, she remembered who she was and who he was, and where they both were.

Temari panicked.

"What are you doing!"

She needed room; he was too close to her. He's never been so close before. He was invading her space. She couldn't think properly. Surely, the thoughts that she had seconds before were proof enough. Because of his close proximity, she found it hard to distinguish if her own feelings were of fear or heightened discomfort. Usually, she wasn't afraid when she was alone around Gaara. It was often like an uneasiness and awkwardness, since she felt as if she were trespassing on his solitude. And she wasn't quite sure how he felt either, since his thoughts and feelings were often times undecipherable from his demeanor. No smiling or frowning, his face was smooth and unmarred from the wrinkles and lines of emotion.

She put her hands on his shoulder to push him away from her, but he would not budge. His body was like stone above hers, solid and immobile beneath her fingers. Immovable. A crimson haired Adonis carved from rock…but he was warm. Oh, so warm. When he was unconscious, his body temperature had dropped as if he was in like some state of hibernation. 1 …She had almost feared he had died and that they were transporting a corpse. …But now, with him seemingly wide-awake, Temari was aware of the warmth emanating from his pores through to her fingertips, heating the cells of her very being. She tried to push again and still nothing.

"You're different." Gaara's voice was low as it rumbled out from deep within his chest Temari could detect hints of stress in his voice despite it being laced with its usual eerie rasp. It sounded almost as if he were straining…from pain.

It suddenly occurred to her: if she had been thinking more clearly seconds before, she would've realized that she was pushing against his injured shoulder ---the shoulder that the Uchiha had damaged which also hadn't healed as cleanly because of the rampaging Biju. Her eyes widened and her arms went limp like noodles before falling.

"Naze (why)…" Gaara questioned. Often times, the things that Gaara didn't understand subsequently resulted in two distinct emotions. One mood swing was involved raging anger which oftentimes involved the need for medical nin.

_Bad. Very bad. _Temari thought to herself.

The second emotion was caution and fear; no medical nin needed (most of the time).

_Better._

Temari hoped his emotional shift was the latter. Human behavior deemed that fear should stem from the unknown, an angry Gaara was one of the last things she wanted to deal with right now.

"Gomen, I didn't mean to…" Temari's was voice soft and apologetic.

"Why…are you …" Each pause in his statement seemed cautiously chosen. "...different?"

His low tone gave her goose bumps and caused a funny feeling to spread through her stomach. It made her tingle all over. It took some time for her mind to register that he didn't seem quite so concerned about the accidental hurt she had just inflicted on him. Certainly something so trivial as her appearance wouldn't need explaining, but she replied.

"My hair's down." Had the few hours of sleep skewed her hair into a tangled mess? Contrary, her blonde tresses were spread out around her head like a golden fan.

"But, that shouldn't make you look the way you do…" With the intensity he focused upon her, surely he could crushed her with his gaze only, like some juggernaut. Forget the sand. With those faded green eyes of his, he could kill her with just a look.

Temari blinked twice, slightly perplexed. She stared back at him not quite sure what he meant.

It's true she looked the same even with her hair undone, but something inside Gaara told himself that something was amiss. He should treat her differently, because she was not the same. But, why? Why should he treat her any differently than he had before? It was his sister before him. The term for their kinship held no meaning to him. It was just another word to describe lumps of joints and flesh linked by ill intent like brother… father… mother…family… friend…lover…

"Your eyes…they seem brighter. There's more light in them, like stars." Temari's deep, sea green eyes with the twinkling shine continued to stare back at him. If he was lost, could he find his way home by following the stars that shimmered as brightly as her eyes did now? Find his way back to Suna, back to her.

Then, Temari turned her head towards the window. She couldn't see any of them twinkling outside. The night cycle had shifted them from viewing gaze. But, it was still dark outside, only a few hours left. Gaara was less inclined to converse during the day. This moment between them would inevitably end. She was dreading when the sun would rise and signal the start of another day. He would then seal his thoughts away deep within himself and respond only when spoken to. Even then, he was usually curt and blunt. The low tremors of his voice were refreshing compared the silence which now hung between them. She hoped he would continue.

Gaara concentrated on the sleek curve of her nape, the tightened cords of her throat, and the delicate curve of her jaw as she looked away. Almost absently, not knowing the reason why his body was compelled, he brushed the side of her cheek with the pad of his thumb and tips of his fingers.

When she unexpectedly felt his skin brush her cheek, the oxygen caught in her chest as she held her breath. She didn't know what was happening, what would possess him to lay a hand on her? She could feel the prickling of goose bumps rise up along her body, her body becoming sinfully aware that so much of her flesh had yet to feel Gaara's naked touch. She fisted her own hands, the nails digging into her palms.

_Why was he doing this? He doesn't understand. He's confused._ Things that confused Gaara, made him mad. When he's mad, that's when the bleeding begins… Would the sand come now? She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting and dreading what may be forthcoming.

_I'm not afraid of Gaara. I'm not… I'm not. I'm not afraid! _She kept repeating to herself.

He pulled his hand away, the fleeting brush of his silky touch now gone.

Temari turned her head back to gaze up at Gaara eyes. The color and expression in the faded azure green depths was indescribable. Tenderness? Curiosity? Confusion?

She was the same sister Gaara had seen practically everyday of his life. She should mean nothing to him just like she had in the past. But, she was different to him now. She's changed. She had somehow transformed. In a way he couldn't quite describe, in a place he couldn't see with his eyes. Had her skin always been so flawless and pristine; soft and smooth to the touch? Had her lips always held such delectable curvatures along the sides of her mouth? Were her eyes always so full of expression and feeling? He probably would've overlooked it if he wasn't being overly acute.

Is she going to continue to change in ways that he couldn't see?

They continued to stare and regard each other. The light breeze flowed soundlessly through the ajar window. The silence was thick around them, it was almost suffocating. Even, the awkwardness of the moments before were still fresh. Temari was relieved Gaara had had finally awoken, but butterflies had blossomed from that funny feeling in her stomach. Why was he so focused on her? How long had he'd been awake? Why did he touch her cheek? How did her relief changed into something else. Something uncertain that left her feeling dreadful yet jittery with anticipation.

Gaara did not speak. He was apparently keeping his observations to himself now. She placed a hand on his good shoulder and gently pushed. This time his body was movable. He was pushed back till he was leaning back on his hunches. She felt a sudden chill engulf her body, as the blanket too traveled with Gaara as he leaned back, exposing her to the cold room. She was able to scoot out beneath him so he wouldn't be sitting on her shins and sat up against the headboard.

Seconds flew by, she didn't know how many. Gaara just continued to stare at her as if she were some science project, some specimen to be bottled and studied. From the way he was looking, one would think that she was the enigma of emotion with the unstable psyche. He had little to fear from her. She wouldn't harm him intentionally. Yet he seemed to cautiously regard her as if she would turn into a demonic tanuki. Gaara's thoughts were his and his alone. There was no way Temari could surmise what he was truly thinking.

_Naze? Naze! Why has she changed! _

Why should he even care that something was different? How could he explain this indescribable feeling? Why did his chest feel tight? Why did his insides feel this way? Why had the way she looked at him with her deep forest green eyes made his insides squeeze and twist in ways they hadn't before. It was like his heart hurt, but not like before. This feeling was like a force was tugging on his heart, weighing it down. It didn't hurt enough that he would try to ease the tension by gripping his chest. This feeling was an anomoly to him, startling and paralyzing in its novelty, filling him with some sensation that was fantastic as it was frightening.

_What is this the feeling in my chest? Naze? _

Only once before had Gaara ever been paralyzed with such bewilderment. Only once since the age of six had he been derailed from his mission of self preservation and confirmation to question another person's existence besides himself.

_Uzumaki Naruto…_

Naruto's actions puzzled Gaara. The leaf displayed undying devotion and fevor for his friends well being. By fighting for those he cared about, he would not die and he would not give up no matter how hard Gaara fought. The blonde nin had literally inched and crawled his way across the forest ground to make sure that the Sand nin was defeated and would cause no more harm.

Gaara remembered that day quite vividly.As a result, igniting curiosity and confusion over the meaning of life and what it meant to dedicate his purpose to someone else other than himself.

_Why is he so strong?..._

Ghostly murmurs swirled in his head. Memories and thoughts that clung to his sub consciousness, influencing his actions .

(Flashback: Yashamaru's voice) "_The thing that can heal a wound of the heart…is love"_

_Love…is that why he's strong?_

(Flashback: Gaara's inner voice) _"Love only yourself, and fight only for yourself."_

_I do…but he's still stronger…naze?…_

(Haku's voice) "_The hardest feeling that anyone can feel… The feeling that you are not needed by anyone is this world."_

_My existence will not disappear…I don't want to disappear... _

Temari and Kankuro were always trying to ensure his existence, trying to protect him, like when he had lain exhausted on the Leaf forest with the Uchiha and Uzumaki only steps away.

_Don't fight them. Let's stop._ His voice was weak. Defeated. Temari couldn't believe her ears or her eyes. He was beaten. His blood marred his forehead. His body was drained of chakra. He couldn't even sit up. Kankurou had to support him over one shoulder.

Gaara's only previous knowledge of desire had been when he learned to find pleasure and eventually a reason to live in annihilating the many assassins sent to kill him. Shouldn't that desire be enough to defend against all that threatened his existence? But still, Naruto had defeated him. Had Naruto's own desire been stronger than his? Gaara realized that Naruto's strength came from the desire to protect his friends, to protect the ones that acknowledged his existence, to protect the ones he loved…

_Naze? Naze! Why has she changed! _

She fought to protect him…

A person protects the ones they love…

Temari had always been there to protect him, to ensure his existence, to protect the one she…

_Naze? Naze! Why has she changed! _

In that moment, he realized Temari hadn't really changed.

It was him.

He had reached an epiphany that had shifted the foundation of his existence.

Abruptly, he got off the bed and proceeded to take his gourd.

"Where are you going?" Temari was alarmed as her gaze followed his motions.

"Out," as he strapped the oversized burden over his back.

"You were hurt. You can't…" Temari was already getting off the bed as he began to stride out. She reached to grab his arm

"Don't tell me what to do," his voice menacing as his eyes narrowed. The tone signaling he was preparing to be defensive, but going on the offense would be just as easy. The cap on the gourd popped; sand shot out and wrapped around her wrist just as her slim fingers wrapped around his limb. Her blood turned to ice. She froze. She had forgotten about the sand, that gritty bodyguard. She was expecting his control over sand to have wavered. She took a step back, but there wasn't very far she could go because the sand's grip was like a vise and prevent her from fleeing.

A gasp escaped her lips. "Please! Gaara!" Her hand tugged on his arm as the sand coiled even more tightly around her wrist like an abrasive snake. She hissed an intake of breath. He stared at her hand.

"I don't want you to get hurt anymore." After a pause, she added, "If you leave now...we'll each be…alone."

Indefinable shadows of emotions behind those chilly pale eyes of his.

"Come back and rest." She gave a gentle yet insistent tug. "Who knows if you'll ever have the opportunity again," her voice was solemn.

"Please? Stay…with me? Neh?"

"Fine." With that curt reply, the sand released Temari's hand and retracted back into the gourd with a shuffling hiss. She retracted her hand as if she'd been burned; lightly massaging the circumference of her wrist where redness had begun to appear from the sand's abrasiveness. The reddening of her flesh became more evident as Gaara crouched and retrieved the gourd's plug. He capped the enlarge vessel, set it against the wall, and sat on the bed. His legs folded Indian style.

The last time he truly got a good look at her was during the battle in Konoha. How could the person he knew his whole existence change from one person to another in an instant. However, he knew it truly hadn't been an instant. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. Hours, days, weeks, but it wasn't long enough. He could never get enough of the soundless oblivion called sleep which eluded him for so long.

"I'm tired, Temari."

"I know you are."

He sat up against the headboard, his back slouching as his arms hung almost immobile at his sides.

"Take off your shirt." Temari softly ordered.

"Naze?"

To be continued…

* * *

Sorry for the long wait. This chapter was actually double in length, but I've decided to revise.

(1) Yes, I know Gaara's never met Haku, but Haku's words I found very significant and his story arc so sad I wanted to include something.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Naruto, and honestly I would probably never have the creative capacity to think of something even close. Kudos to Masashi Kishimoto!

**

* * *

Pretty Little Hate Machine**

**Chapter 5**  
[Draft 11-25-07

Warning: IF SANDCEST OFFENDS YOU, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. Go read some yaoi or something. Read at your own risk.

I don't understand why some haters out there continue when this theme totally freaks them out. It's not like I don't forewarn. Sheesh.

**By: Forgetmenow**  
Spoilers: TV and manga are fair game

* * *

Previous chapter:

The last time he truly got a good look at her was during the battle in Konoha. How could the person he knew his whole existence change from one person to another in an instant. From a nobody to a somebody. However, he knew it truly hadn't been an instant. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. Hours, days, weeks, but it wasn't long enough. He could never get enough of the soundless oblivion called sleep which eluded him for so long.

"I'm tired, Temari."

"I know you are."

He sat leaning against the headboard, his back slouched as his arms hung almost lifelessly, immobile at his sides.

"Take off your shirt." Temari softly ordered.

"Naze?"

New Chapter:

Without turning his head, Gaara's eyes shifted to regard her. He sat up straighter and eyed her warily waiting for her response.

"I need to look at your shoulder."

"Why do you _need to_?" He inquired again as he turned his head sideways. His voice was low and full of suspicion.

Temari shifted her weight from one foot to the other suddenly unsure of herself at she stood against Gaara's scrutiny. She nervously fidgeted as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Why did conversations with Gaara always make her feel uncomfortable? Perhaps she shouldn't have been so blunt. However, Gaara had already admitted he was tired. Surely it would exhaust him even more by dragging out the conversation, which would further lead him to become irritable and unpredictable. Gaara hated when people beat around the bush. Fluffing and babbling s in a conversation sounded like rusty nails on a chalkboard. She had to be straight forward and forthright. "Um, well, you can bleed just like I can. And that gash on your shoulder, had needed some mending…Now, I need to make sure it's alright…if your wound is healing okay." She did her best not to stutter, pleading with her eyes, while trying to prevent the shaking in her voice. To her relief, Gaara seemed to relax as her words were absorbed. The rigidness in his posture melted. As he contemplated her reply, his face lost some of the cold, stoic features almost reverting back to the sleeping expression she rarely saw.

Gaara abruptly broke eye contact, shifting his attention to the window, breaking the enthralling connection the two of them seem to be making. If he averted his gaze, perhaps he could prevent himself from becoming lost in her eyes, stopping himself from uncharacteristically yielding to her will.

He took a slow and heavy breath before speaking. Watching her made him feels things, things he's never felt before. Things he shouldn't feel. He found it unusual that these feelings suddenly surfaced so suddenly. They made him think things that were unfathomable before. His mind linked images with sensations. He remembered her warm body as she had snuggled against him and her warm, even breath as it tickled skin. He craved that peaceful calm he had woken up to earlier as her thighs were entwined with his and her pliant breasts were crushed against his body. It made the blood rush in his veins, causing an uncomfortable tightness in his groin and raising his temperature at an unstable rate.

"There's no more blood. I can tell. My shirt doesn't stick to my skin and I don't smell it anymore." Gaara's sense of smell was quite sensitive to detecting the metallic odor.

He was indirectly refusing her offer. Temari could get the hint. At least he didn't flat out say no. That gave her some hope. "Just because your shoulder isn't bleeding a river like before, that doesn't mean you're okay."

During the three day trek back from Konoha, the two older sand siblings had saw to the healing of the wound as well as replacing the blood encrusted shirt Gaara had worn. Gaara had fallen in and out of conscious the first day, mumbling the ramblings of a sociopath in his unconsciousness. That night while on guard, Temari kindled their dying campfire a stick, Gaara groggily mumbled for Okaa-san and restlessly shifted in his sleep. She had leaned down close to his ear and hushed away the nightmares with her gentle whispers. Her voice had been so soft, practically inaudible against the crackling of the fire and Kankurou's snoring.

When Gaara's eyes managed to stay open for brief periods the next day, he was silent, observing the passing landscape as he slumped over Kankurou's back. Finally, he had remained unconscious and docile until the trio had finally arrived at their remote training ground and safe house along the border of Konoha and Suna.

"I want you to be safe." Temari said sternly yet imploringly.

Gaara seemed to weigh her words warily, turning his head once more to observe her. He had thought if he looked away the urge to satisfy and bend to her requests would be weaker. Finally, he pulled his shirt over his head and returned to staring out at the night sky, leaving his torso and back bare, however not even bothering to completely take off his shirt.

He didn't even completely remove his arms from the clothing. His limbs were still slightly entangled in the fishnet sleeves. The material was all bunched up around his forearms. His wrists were hidden in the folds of the shirt as he rested them in his lap. His fingers, semi-curled, peeked out from beneath the crumpled fabric.

He had little reason to distrust her. But, it made him uncomfortable that he himself did not know why he was so willing to submit to her whims. Temari looked sincere enough and everything she has ever done has been for the benefit of her brothers.

His skin was pale. His red hair, which looked almost like a mix of black and burgundy in the poorly lighted room, was even more disheveled and askew. The scarred tissue stared back at her, slightly risen above the rest of his skin. It was like a star, the deepest area of penetration being the center, while jagged tendrils and branchings stemmed from it. The Biju would've healed the wound without leaving scab or scar, but Gaara had met his chakra limit. His body couldn't heal as efficiently, so Temari had to step in by administering first aid and ointment. The scar was already evidence of accelerated healing. It was darker in coloration compared to the rest of his body, however it would eventually fade over time and with proper care.

Gaara's eyes locked Temari in a gaze that made her feel awkwardly vulnerable.

"Do what you want," he said.

At that moment it suddenly occurred to her like a bolt of lightning that she was a female requesting a young man to half undress. Even though it was Gaara, her face still turned a shade of pink that Gaara had never seen on Temari.

To Be Continued…  
------------

OMG, finally Shippuden's finished airing the Gaara rescue arc. I lost my impetus for awhile since the manga and tv series have been Gaara deficient. Plus there haven't been many new Temari & Gaara sandcest fics out there. So I've shifted to other pairings and series. There is more to this story, but it's hard to organize the ideas and make it worthwhile to read.

Thanks for reading and every little comment is a big encouragement.


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